About Me

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Hey Jude

Road Trip questions…..what was the first
song that was yours, not something your parents played?

The
summer I was eight, my parents parked the camper in my aunt’s driveway for a
month while the truck had some repairs done. We were about to travel across the
country and the suspension system was questionable. They slept in the camper; I
preferred sleeping in the house with my cousins. The boys slept in one room; I
had a cot with my cousin Sherry, four years younger, in the adjoining room. We
were all sent to bed at the same time; the parents were clearly done with us by
about eight o’clock. Sherry and Steven went to sleep quickly. Roland, the
eldest by a year, did not. He loved baseball, so he took a small radio to bed
with him to listen to the Red Sox games. Most nights, I slipped over to join
him. We would listen to the game, to the sound of our parents talking, drinking
beer, and playing cards in the kitchen, and chat. No one cared. We were quiet. Every
night that summer, the radio played “Hey Jude” at the same time, a few minutes
after the game was over. We waited for
the song to begin, sang along softly, and then I would head back to my cot and
sleep. We did not quite understand the
longing in the lyrics, but it spoke to us. And, oddly enough, I never heard the
song during the day, when the radio was dominated by “Honey, Honey” and “When
the weather is hot, you can do what you please.” It was a night song.

Four
years later, back from the cross country adventure, we moved in with my cousins
again. The house was bigger—my parents had a room inside—another child had been
added to the mix, but the situation was the same. Kids formed a pack that ran
around just beyond the gaze of adults. On Saturdays, we were all left alone in
the house while every adult went to work. We argued over whose turn it was to
change Kevin’s diapers (he was only house broken for my father), watched bad
television, went ice skating until we froze, and listened to music. Roland had acquired
the Beatles compilation albums for Christmas and we played them over and over.
Once again, we sang along to “Hey Jude.” It was not my favorite song—the ending refrain
went on too long in my mind—but we were loud.

Three
years later, Roland convinced our mothers that we had to go to Boston to see
Beatlemania, a group of musicians who performed the classic songs, in authentic
costumes, with a slide show. Going to a
show in the Big City was not common at that point in time; I doubt that he
would have succeeded if the women of the house had not wanted an evening out,
perhaps at the new Hyatt hotel on the waterfront. Whatever argument he used,
they agreed. We drove into Boston, bought scalped tickets, which felt unbelievably
adult, and went in. Our mothers drove off with specific pick-up instructions.
(I believe they were late getting back…) The show was transformative. I
understood, watching the slides and listening to the music, the connections between
popular culture, current events, and music—something I was only just beginning
to consider. And it was sad, too, to watch the group disintegrate over time,
which I only sensed then and learned the details of later. I was transfixed.
And so was my cousin, who always tried to be a Bad Boy, to be hip and cool. In
that context, “Hey Jude” took on a whole new meaning, the longing to do well,
to reach for something more.

This
was the last time I spent any real thoughtful time with my cousin. We were on separate
paths by then. I was the Good Girl, the smart one, who took Honors English and
read piles of books on the side. He was a Bad Boy, skipping classes, smoking
across from the bus stop, messing around with girls. He did not graduate. At the
time, I don’t think the adults really understood the problems that could cause;
they had all done pretty well without high school diplomas. They would not be
so causal now. We all wanted something better; we just did
not know how to get there. “Hey Jude” was written as a guide, if we only
listened. I still don’t think “Hey Jude”
is the best song they ever wrote—but it sends me back to my roots every time.